


The Wolfsman of the Woods

by VisceralViscaria



Series: Of Men and Wolves [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Little Red Riding Hood, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wolf!Hannibal, Woodsman!Will, mentions of past willana
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2604533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralViscaria/pseuds/VisceralViscaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hannibal could make a meal of him at any time. The trouble was, at this point Will wasn't sure he would mind. He wanted Hannibal by his side. He just didn't want to think about why.</i>
</p><p>---</p><p>A month after <i>Red Riding Wolf</i>, Will's past comes to call. Loudly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canine Companions

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back sooner than expected. Thank you all for the positive response _Red Riding Wolf_ received! I truly appreciate it. [howishughdancyevenpossible](http://howishughdancyevenpossible.tumblr.com/) continues to be an awesome beta and helped with chapter titles. They're the best! I've decided to post these chapters as I write them (because I suck at resisting temptation), but I shouldn't ever post more than two a day. Again, at the end I'll decide if I want to add more. Minor editing will probably happen as I reread and go along.

~~~

 

            The snow fell like rain at first, fast and blinding. A flurry of white was all he could see for a while. But eventually it slowed. Now he could make out each individual flake that kissed the frosted window pane, clinging before it melted from the heat that warmed the other side.

 

            Will propped himself against the counter with a hip, staring out into the world of white surrounding his small cottage. Lifting a mug to his lips, he took a sip of hot cocoa and swirled it with his tongue, the bittersweet liquid dancing over his taste buds. A furry head bumped his knee and he glanced down to find Winston whining at his feet. His tail wagged back and forth as Will reached down to scratch behind his ears with a smile. "Hey there, buddy. What's wrong?"

 

            Winston whined again, and there was a snort behind him. "I believe he is still upset about me."

 

            Will straightened out and glanced back over his shoulder into his tiny kitchen. Further down the counter was a stainless steel sink, ordinarily filled with dishes and silverware, but today it had already been emptied and cleaned. A wood-burning stove was tucked into a back corner, logs of firewood neatly bound with white twine resting in a stack at its side. Thick string, an installation that was relatively new, had been suspended over it. Dried herbs and spices hung down where they had been tied, low enough that they almost brushed the top of his head if he wasn't careful and leaned in a little too far while cooking. A steel icebox took up the other side of the room. He knew it would be filled with more meats, fruits, and vegetables than he knew what to do with.

 

            Luckily he wasn't the one who had to use them. Across from him stood the imposing figure of a wolf, taller than him and broader in the shoulders. His dark brown ears were nearly black in the low light, sharply contrasting as they seamlessly joined his pale blond hair. Tan skin glowed where it was illuminated by stout flames in the belly of the stove, shadows flickering across it in random shapes and patterns as they leapt behind the iron grate. Thin lips, one side twisting up in amusement, perched under a straight, angular nose. Intelligent maroon eyes shone above sharp cheekbones. He was beautiful, a chiseled predator of living marble and stone.

 

            Will could feel Hannibal's eyes on him as he looked away, a light blush coloring his cheeks. "He'll get used to you eventually."

 

            A quiet hum was joined by the sound of metal on metal as Hannibal resumed his cooking, filling Will's nose with a scent that was nothing less than mouthwatering. "I would like to think so, but seeing as it has already been a month I am beginning to have my doubts."

 

            They lapsed into a comfortable silence as Will took another sip of cocoa, staring out at the heavy blanket of snow hiding the forest floor from view. A month. It was hard to believe. When Hannibal had first approached him in the clearing, saying he feared the very thing he pretended not to be, Will had just thought he was a curious wolf. Strange and charming, yes, but dangerous. He'd decided to go along with him if only to keep him in his sights. Friends close, enemies closer.

 

            But he might have taken that a little too far.

 

            Thoughts of that first night flooded his mind, the images they brought with them causing him to nearly choke on his drink. He managed to swallow it all down, feeling embarrassed for more reasons than one. It was rare for him to sleep with anyone at all, let alone a wolf that he had known for _one day_. He wasn't entirely sure what had come over him. Still, he knew that given the chance he would've done it all over again. 

 

            And they had. Since then Will had made the trip to his house more times than he could count, the vast manor always as impressive as it had been the first time he saw it. It was only recently that Hannibal had come into his own home, tiny in comparison but more than enough for him and his dogs. Dogs that didn't like having a wolf around at all. Hannibal had been slowly winning them over with food and treats after taking control of Will's kitchen, and soon all of his pack would perk up whenever he arrived. All but Winston.

 

            Will looked down to his furry companion with an affectionate sigh, setting the mug on the counter to kneel by his side. He took Winston's head in both hands, fingers weaving into his fur to scratch under his chin. Winston rested his head on his master's thigh, looking up with wide brown eyes as he continued to whine. "It's alright, boy. We're fine." He murmured assurances to him softly, combing through his shaggy brown coat and lingering at his ears before standing to lean against the counter again. 

 

            Winston refused to trust Hannibal no matter what either of them tried. Watching him peer anxiously into the kitchen, Will couldn't help but wonder if he shouldn't be following his lead. Even now, he still caught Hannibal staring at him with the same strange look he'd been given when he first woke in his bed. Will was no fool; he knew exactly what that look meant. Hannibal could make a meal of him at any time. 

 

            The trouble was, at this point Will wasn't sure he would mind. He turned to watch Hannibal glide through his kitchen, steps so fluid and silent that they were a dance all their own. His shirt shifted with the muscles in his back, strong arms revealed where he'd neatly rolled up his sleeves. Every movement was made with precision and grace, leaving no room for error. If he wanted to kill him, he could. It wasn't like there was anything holing him back. Will wasn't his mate, not really. At least he didn't think so. So far this 'arrangement' had been made with actions rather than words, never quite something they could talk about. Even if they did, Will wasn't sure he would like what they had to say. He wanted Hannibal by his side. He just didn't want to think about why.

 

            At some point he realized that Hannibal had stopped moving. He glanced up and found himself drowning in pools of red that regarded him with gentle fascination. "What are you thinking?" The tenderness of his voice was almost unbearable.

 

            Will looked down, focusing on the top button of his shirt. "I..." He frowned, struggling to put his thoughts into words. "Are we..." Trailing off, he swallowed dryly, unwilling to continue. 

 

            Hannibal watched with hooded eyes, and Will got the impression that he knew. "Are we what, Will?"

 

            The easy silence of before now stretched and grew, dripping with the tension of words best left unsaid. Will cursed himself for bringing this up in the first place. Obviously Hannibal wasn't going to let him drop it now. But he could try. 

 

            Just as he was opening his mouth to make a desperate bid at changing the subject, he was cut off by an odd sound. He followed it to his door. It repeated, and suddenly he recognized it for what it was. Someone was knocking outside. 

 

            His eyebrows rose, and he turned to find Hannibal staring at the door with a strange intensity, ears flicking once before flattening against his skull. Quietly, so quietly that he had to lean forward to catch it, Hannibal whispered to him. "Why is there a woman at your door?"

 

            His confusion must have shown on his face, because Hannibal let out a low growl and took a step around the counter, moving toward the front of his house. Will couldn't imagine this going well, so he quickly brushed past him and threw a warning over his shoulder. "I don't know, but _I'm_ going to find out."


	2. Doubt

~~~

 

            Will crossed the floor, stepping around his dogs as they swarmed his legs at the door. He wrapped a hand around the knob and paused, unsure. Something in his gut told him not to open it, to just keep quiet until whoever was on the other side gave up and left him alone. He could only think of a few reasons anyone would be willing to come out this far, and none of them were good. 

 

            But Hannibal had said it was a woman, and if he was right, then he exactly which woman it was. Besides, it was snowing. It would be incredibly rude of him to leave someone out in the cold. He opened the door.

 

            And there she was, hand raised to knock again with a startled look written across her face. Alana Bloom. He watched her expression shift into one of warmth, smiling as a rosy blush colored her cheeks. "Will."

 

            Any other time, he might've been glad to see her. But right now he had a wolf in his kitchen with his hackles raised. He gave her a tight lipped smile, standing in the doorway. "Alana." Before he could stop it, one of his dogs broke free and squeezed out around his legs. Buster yipped and leapt up, placing his paws on her long brown skirt.

 

            She laughed and crouched down, one gloved hand rising to pet his head while the other pat his side. Alana glanced up at him, a familiar twinkle in her eye. "May I come in?"

 

            Seeing no other option, he stepped back and to the side. Lowering her fur lined hood, she walked in and stood with uncertainty as Will shut the door behind her. Snowflakes melted into tiny drops of water that shone like diamonds in her dark hair. Her thick blue jacket was quickly shed in the heat of his home, bundled up in her arms to reveal a knit sweater of a lighter shade. He took the jacket from her and placed it on a hook by the door, gesturing toward a pair of chairs by his fireplace.

 

            She stepped around him and took one of them, delicately crossing her legs at the ankle as she stretched her undoubtedly cold feet in front of the fire. He stood by the other, staring into the flames. Neither spoke for a while.

 

            "Smells nice in here. Have you been cooking?"

 

            He ruffled his curls, leaning against the chair on an arm. "Uh, a little bit. Just made some hot chocolate. Do you want any?"

 

            She nodded and he slipped back into the kitchen, surprised to see that the fire was out. He edged his way into the darkened room, lit only by the small window he'd been looking through earlier. As quietly as possible, he called out. "Hannibal?"

 

            Will let out a muffled shout as he was pulled against a hard chest and a hand rose to cover his mouth. "Shhh." Warm breath tickled the top of his ear as he was shushed.

 

            He gently tugged the hand away, but made no move to leave the embrace. "Hannibal, what are you doing?" Both arms slipped down to tighten around his waist, and he sighed, but allowed himself to be caged in.

 

            "Who is the woman in your living room?" Hannibal nosed through his curls, lingering at the nape of his neck. Scenting him, Will's brain helpfully provided.

 

            "She's from the village." Knowing that he shouldn't, he tipped his head to the side to bare his throat. "Her name's Alana."

 

            With an appreciative hum, Hannibal shifted slightly to ghost along the curve of his skin, Will's hands coming to rest atop his own. "And how do you know this Alana?"

 

            Will tensed and felt Hannibal grow still. He allowed himself to be maneuvered until they were face to face, his eyes locking onto Hannibal's lips. Fingers, soft but firm, lifted his chin until he met Hannibal's eyes. They burnt into him, as hot as the spilt blood they so accurately resembled. "Will."

 

            He shivered, wondering how his name could so easily become a command. "We were..." He licked his lips and tried again. "Alana is an old flame of mine. Kind of."

 

            Hannibal's eyes narrowed into slits, but before he could say anything he sharply turned to the doorway. Listening, Will heard footsteps as Alana came toward them. Hannibal let him go and he quickly rushed over to the stove, throwing wood onto the fire until the flames had properly grown. Just in time he stepped forward and blocked the doorway, he and Alana nearly colliding. "Will!"

 

            He smiled down at her, hoping it looked more reassuring than it felt. "Hey, Alana. What's wrong?"

 

            She tried to peek around him, knowing he was hiding something from her. "Nothing. You were just taking a while. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Her tone gave away her suspicion. Sometimes she was too clever for her own good.

 

            "Oh no, I wasn't up to anything. The fire had died down, that's all."

 

            Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say. "Really? Let me help then." 

 

            "I-it's fine, I already-" His heart raced in his chest.

 

            She pushed by him, ignoring his noise of protest. He whirled around with dread, expecting to see her coming face to face with an angry wolf. Instead he found an empty kitchen and a pot of warm hot cocoa steaming as it was heated by the flames. He scanned the room with wide eyes, finally noticing that his back door was hanging open just a crack. His shoulders sagged slightly with relief, but tensed again when he noticed Alana studying him. "What?"

 

            "No, it's nothing." She too swept the room with a glance, eyes falling on the door as well. "Your door's open, Will."

 

            He stepped around her and shut it, not liking the way she was chiding him. "Yeah, probably blown open by the wind."

 

            "Maybe you should be locking it then."

 

            "It's fine. If you haven't noticed, I'm pretty isolated out here. Not a lot of people come by." He looked over, settling on her left shoulder. "Why did you?"

 

            Now she shuffled awkwardly, clearly not looking forward to what she had to say. "We want you to come back, Will."

 

            He sucked in a sharp breath, straightening his spine. "And when you say 'we', you mean...?" He knew who it really was, but he wanted her to say it. 

 

            Guilt cast its shadow in her eyes. "I mean me... and Jack Crawford." 

 

            Will couldn't help it. He laughed bitterly, pressing back onto the wall. "Of course. Because everything went so _well_ the last time." 

 

            She flinched as though struck, but bravely pressed on. "We made mistakes, I know. And I can't guarantee that things won't go wrong again-"

 

            "Then why would you even come? Why wouldn't you just leave me alone?"

 

            Alana's gaze turned steely then. "Because this isn't good for you, Will. Can't you see that? We're worried, _I'm_ worried. We miss you. You're all alone out here."

 

            _Not anymore_. He looked into her eyes, surprising her with their strength. "Trust me, Alana. I've been doing just fine."

 

            She took him in, eyes flitting over his face. Finally, she stepped back into the living room. "I hope so."

 

            He followed her to the entrance, silently handing her jacket to her. He held the door and watched as she walked out, the only spot of color in a monochrome world of black trees and white snow. Alana stopped a couple yards away, turning back one last time. "Just think about it, okay?"

 

            Hesitating, he gave her a slow nod. As soon as she was out of sight, he closed the door.

 

            Letting out a heavy sigh, he rested against the wood, chilling his forehead with the coldness that had somehow managed to seep through. He stayed there for a while, trying unsuccessfully to empty out his mind. Eventually he faced the room again.

 

            And nearly had a heart attack. Hannibal stood less than a foot away, watching him with an unreadable expression. "Will. We need to talk."

 

            His mouth became a grim line. He gestured to the fireplace. "Lead the way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _God_ I hope I can get Alana's character right. She's awesome.


	3. Bygones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some of the dialogue from the show.

~~~

 

            The silence that Alana's arrival had broken returned in full force, though for different reasons. Will fiddled with his mug, thumb running over the smooth, unbroken surface of the handle. Hannibal had insisted that the hot chocolate not go to waste, pouring them both a cup before allowing them to sit down. Now they watched the firewood burn in the hearth, Hannibal's ears swiveling to catch the sound whenever pockets of water trapped within them burst.

 

            Will didn't want to be the first to speak. He'd prefer it if they didn't talk at all. So he met Hannibal's words with a mixture of relief and dread.

 

            "Will, why did Alana come?"

 

            He sighed, slouching in his chair under the weight of Hannibal's gaze. "She wants me to go back with her and live in the village again." Though he didn't look away from the hot chocolate foaming against the sides of his cup, he could tell that Hannibal wasn't happy with this revelation.

 

            "And why does she want that?" From the corner of his eye he watched his tail flick in subtle agitation.

 

            Will gripped his cup with both hands, staring into the flames and remembering a time when another fire had been used to threaten his life. "If I'm going to answer that, I'll have to tell you why I left in the first place." Hannibal was giving him his full attention. For a long moment the only sound was a quiet crackling as tongues of fire licked over the logs.

 

            "I've lived in the village for most of my life. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father took it hard. He tried his best to raise me, but... It wasn't easy. I was never like the other kids. Aside from Alana, I didn't have many friends."

 

            Hannibal tipped his head in encouragement. "You mentioned that you see too much. I am guessing that this has something to do with it?" His posture was relaxed and open, broadcasting his willingness to listen. He would've made a great psychiatrist.

 

            "Yeah, you could say that. When I look at people, I don't just see them. I look through them. Their thoughts, their feelings, they. They flow into me." He took a fortifying sip of his drink. "I can get into people's heads, but most of the time they don't want me there."

 

            "Pure empathy." His voice spoke of wonder rather than the repulsion he'd prepared himself to expect. Once someone knew he could crawl into their mind and wear it like a second skin, they were usually quick to distance themselves. "You said you hadn't felt welcomed there anymore. How does this relate to your leaving the village?" He wasn't sure how he knew, but Hannibal was already drawing the right conclusions.

 

            "...How much did you hear when Alana was here earlier?"

 

            "I heard that something went wrong. I heard that the same mistakes could be repeated. And I heard a name."

 

            With a grimace, Will took to massaging his temples, lowering his mug over the side of his chair and holding it above the ground. "Jack Crawford." Something nudged his hand. He glanced down, surprised to find one of the older dogs prodding at his cup. He lifted it safely out of reach and ran his fingers through her coarse fur.

 

            "In the village, Jack's the head of the council's penal division. You'd be surprised how much crime one small area can hold. Most of the time, it's not the things in these woods that they need to fear."

 

            Hannibal nodded with grimly. "Human emotions are a gift from your animal ancestors. Cruelty is a gift humanity has given itself." Will understood the partial sarcasm of his words; he was more than capable of being cruel when he wanted to be.

 

            But he decided not to comment on it, gently shooing his dog back to where the rest of the pack was lounging in a warm, furry pile. "Crawford knows that better than anyone. He's willing to do whatever it takes to save lives."

 

            "As well as using you." Hannibal crossed his legs, folding his hands over his stomach.

 

            "Yes. He had me read the crime scenes, reconstruct them in my head. I caught a lot of criminals. Saved a lot of lives. But it wasn't good for me. Nightmares kept me up every night. Alana tried to help, and for a while it was working. We... were friends, but we could've been more. It didn't work out though." He had to fight off a wave of bitterness at the memory of her sad expression after he'd kissed her. "She said we wouldn't be good for each other. It took me a while to see it, but she was right. We both needed some time alone. 

 

            Things got bad again. The nightmares came back and depression tagged along for the ride. I..." He hesitated, licking his lips but stopping when he realized his mouth had gone bone dry. "I started seeing things that weren't there, hearing sounds that no one else could hear. It was like every crime scene left a stain. I got too close to the last case, and there was no one there to pull me back from the edge."

 

            Eyes narrowing, Hannibal tilted his head to the side. Will squirmed under his scrutiny, wondering if he had gone too far. "I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind." He stared at him with horror as he thoughtfully continued. "Your values and decency are present, yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love."

 

            He shot from his chair like a bullet, one hand clenched uselessly at his side while the other clung to his mug. "Don't psychoanalyze me. You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed."

 

            Hannibal watched him with calm red eyes, lowering his voice to take on the tone one uses to gentle a skittish animal. "I'm sorry, Will. Though I cannot promise it won't happen again, I will try to refrain from now on. Please, continue." He gestured to the chair with a languid flick of his wrist.

 

            Slowly, Will sat back down and eased into the cushions, fingers tense where they curled around the ends of the armrests. He chased after his previous train of thought, furrowing his brow. After a brief moment of silence he picked up where he'd left off.

 

            "Like I said, I got too close. The villagers always thought I was weird. Add that to my ability to mirror a killer's horrifying thoughts and you had the perfect storm. They were terrified." He shrugged, trying for nonchalant. "So they tried to chase me out."

 

            The inscrutable expression was back. "Chase you out."

 

            His nails tapped out a staccato on the wood beneath his palm, eyes distant as he was swept up into the memory of one of the worst nights of his life. "...A week before I moved into the forest, I woke up to shouting and the scent of smoke. Apparently they had formed an angry mob. And someone decided to set my house on fire." 

 

            His dogs had been scratching at his door, their whines rising above the noise of the crowd. He'd jumped out of bed and flung open the door to lungfuls of thick black smoke. Coughing into the crook of his arm, he squinted through the sudden tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision, counting to make sure each dog was there. The front of his house was on fire, a blaze that flickered and grew as it slowly spread through the room. From the backyard rose more furious voices. Will knew that there was no time to stop and think. He herded his pack to a side door and burst through in a cloud of smoke. His heart stopped in his chest when someone yelled. "There he is!" They came for him in slow motion, looking like something out of one of his nightmares, holding up knives and pitchforks that gleamed in the light of their torches. In front of him was a monstrous thing that couldn't be thought of as a group of humans anymore. Behind him his entire life burnt to soot and ash. Will knew that he was going to die.

 

            "I couldn't get away from them. I was trapped." He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "But the penal division held them back just long enough for me to escape." Will still remembered looking back as he ran, the mob struggling to surge toward him once again, faces twisted into cruel sneers. The light thrown off by the flames devouring the only home he'd ever known had glowed so brightly that they could be seen for miles. Involuntarily, he shuddered.

 

            "I stayed with Jack for a few days before I found this cottage. It was pretty run down, and I don't know who built it, but I fixed it up. Moved in with my pack as soon as I could. And now they need me again, or think they do. That's why they want me to come back." Finally done, he sagged in his seat. It felt like all of his energy had gone into the words, but now that he'd revealed his past he felt lighter somehow. It was nice. Almost worth reliving it all over again.

 

            Will gradually realized that something was wrong when Hannibal failed to reply. He peeked over curiously. And sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.

 

            Waves of tightly controlled anger rolled across his face. His tail bristled behind him while his ears pressed down against his hair. Hannibal's upper lip curled upward in a silent snarl, sharp white fangs flashing dangerously. Maroon eyes quickly shifted, locking onto his own. "How _dare_ they do that to you."

 

            Will flinched back, wide blue eyes soaking up his fury. Immediately he turned away. He wasn't sure how long he waited, but in the end Hannibal calmed, stiffness ebbing from the taut lines of his frame. From his peripheral he watched him carefully scan his face, slowly reaching out to take his hand in his own. He gave it a soft squeeze. "Will."

 

            Hannibal patiently waited for him to tear his gaze from the floor. Eventually, Will looked to the dip in his collar bones, but wouldn't go any further than that. "Don't go."

 

            Finally he met his eyes. What he found in them had his heart melting into a gooey mess. Brown bled delicately into red. There was no anger, all of it having been replaced with a terrible affection. Beyond that, he could see worry, concern. Hannibal wanted him to stay. He wanted him to be safe. No words passed between them, but each knew the other understood. A warm feeling blossomed in his chest. He didn't examine it too closely, looking down to their joined hands.

 

            "Okay."

 

            Just like that, the tension broke. Will took a deep breath and let it out in a lazy sigh. He drank down a gulp of cocoa and sank into his chair, threading their fingers together with Hannibal's palm resting beneath his own.

 

            Hannibal lightly stroked the back of his hand with his thumb, the pointed tip of his claw barely grazing the skin. "Thank you, Will." He could hear the smile in his voice and couldn't hold back a small one of his own. Not another word was shared. There was nothing left to say.


	4. Pressure

~~~

 

            Will stood by the open door with an easy grin, watching his dogs romp through the snow behind his house. They carved trails in it, some of the smaller ones visible only because of the powder that flew up as they ran. Winston lead the pack in most of their play. His brown fur was speckled with white where he'd rolled through a large drift, and he playfully nipped at paws and tails.

 

            Though he'd only come outside to get some firewood from his storage shed, he hadn't been willing to hold them back when they energetically followed him out the door. Will had already brought the wood inside, but now he was happy to let them have fun. He could admit to having an ulterior motive. If he was thinking about his dogs, then he couldn't think about anything else. Especially the pesky thoughts that had been ricocheting through his brain ever since the previous night.

 

            Alana's arrival, while timed terribly, hadn't been unexpected. Even before he'd left the village he'd known that they would find some excuse to bring him back, that _Jack_ would find one eventually. He just hadn't wanted it to be so soon. It had been almost suspiciously easy to refuse. He grimaced, wondering how much time he had before they tried again. He didn't want to go back. His little cabin out in the middle of the woods had grown into a home faster than he'd thought it would. And he knew who he had to thank for that.

 

            Eventually his fingers started to go numb. He rubbed his hands together, hoping to warm them with the friction, and whistled sharply. Each dog's head snapped up so fast it was almost comical. It became a race to see who could get to him first as they bound over through the snow, tongues lolling out of their mouths in an expression of canine glee. Will somehow managed to herd them all inside and pushed the door shut with a hip, laughing as cold noses pressed against his palms. He was glad that they were back in his house's warm interior, but eyed the flakes clinging to their coats with disdain. They would melt in the heat of the fire if he didn't brush them off.

 

            Sighing, he ushered the pack into the living room, gathering an armload of towels while they flumped down on a nest of blankets near the hearth. He knelt down and called them over one by one. They were slow to rise, their outdoor adventures having tired them out. His thoughts began to wander as his hands performed the mindless task of patting them down.

 

            It was probably a good thing that he'd given the dogs time to play. He would be gone later that night. When the fire had finally died down yesterday, Hannibal had reluctantly pulled his hand away and risen from his seat. Will walked him to the door in a daze, knowing that something between them had changed, but unable to put the feeling into words. All he knew was that he didn't want to let him leave.

 

            As though he'd read his mind, Hannibal had lingered long enough to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Will."

 

            He sighed as strong arms wrapped around his waist, laying his hands on the flat planes of his chest. "Hannibal."

 

            "What do you think of coming over for dinner tomorrow night, around the usual time?" The question was murmured into his ear, spoken in a low voice that left him feeling warm inside.

 

            "I think..." He slid his hands up over Hannibal's collarbones, then his neck, only stopping when he was cupping the sides of his face. "...That sounds very nice." Leaning in, he brushed Hannibal's lips with his words. 

 

            Their kiss remained chaste and sweet, yet lasted long enough for Will to feel a blush creeping onto his cheeks when he finally pulled away, taking a step back and gently breaking free of the arms loosely hemming him in. "Goodnight, Hannibal."

 

            "Goodnight, Will." He watched him slip through the door, the light spilling out onto untouched snow and glowing against Hannibal's cloak before the darkness swallowed up all traces of red. No footprints had been left behind.

 

            Will was snapped from his peaceful memory by the sound of someone rapping their knuckles against the door. He scowled, knowing there was only one person it could be. Abandoning his task and dropping the damp towel in his hands to the floor, he strode across the room and yanked at the handle. "Back so soon, Alana?"

 

            A faint pink tinged her cheeks. "Hello to you too, Will."

 

            He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, face a careful mask of neutrality. "We both know that this isn't a social call, so why pretend?"

 

            She blinked, and he could see that his barb had stung. Maybe that was a little harsher than necessary. Before Alana had the chance to reply he decided to backtrack. "Sorry. It's good to see you, really, it is. I just... I wish it was for different reasons."

           

            For a long moment, a semi-awkward silence hung thickly between them. He had to strain his ears to catch her near whisper. "So do I."

 

            Will stepped back and gestured for her to come inside. She passed him without a word. He shut the door and waited for her to speak, glancing over to his dogs who had thankfully stayed where they were, only a few of them making the effort to lift their heads in curiosity.

 

            "Look, I'm going to skip the small talk because you're clearly not in the mood for it right now." Her stance widened, and she lifted her chin. "I wanted to give you more time, but I can't. We really need you, Will. With this latest killer, there's something..." She trailed off, eyes turning to the floor while wrinkles marred her brow. Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Something's off, even more off than these things usually are, but we're not sure what it is."

 

            He sighed, protectively curling his arms around himself at the thought of those other things and even less pleased at the idea of looking into something worse. "Alana-"

 

            "Please, Will." The quiet voice cutting him off was far kinder than it should've been. "You don't have to stay. Might not even have to see the crime scene. Just. Check in with Jack and hear the details before you decide if you want to reject this or not."

 

            "Check _in_? Do you honestly believe he'd let me get away with that?" He growled, roughly tugging at his curls while pacing back and forth like a caged animal. It may have been his house, but he suddenly felt trapped in it. 

 

            A hand fell upon his wrist, lightly drawing his own down and away from his hair. He froze in place, eyes boring holes into the floorboards. 

 

            "Do _you_ honestly believe that I want this? That I would be here if I didn't think it was absolutely necessary?" Her fingers tightened on his skin. Their heat burnt into him like a brand. "Without you, we aren't going to catch this guy, maybe not even _with_ you. But we have to try. I think he's going to kill again, Will. We all do. The village isn't big enough to defend itself like the ones north of here. We're terrified. Please." She dropped his arm and stepped away.

 

            Though on the outside nothing changed, Will felt like his head was spinning. His conscience warred against his instinct for self preservation, one voice screaming _help them or more innocents will die_ while the other shouted _if you help them_ you _will die_. Adding to the whirlwind of noise pounding against his skull was Hannibal's voice, Hannibal's eyes. _Will. Don't go._ Alana's chimed in as well, echoing everything she'd said back to him. _I think he's going to kill again. Please._ It all crescendoed, continuing to grow until he couldn't take it anymore.

 

            With a loud grunt of agitation he threw up his hands and gave in. "Alright, alright. Let's get this over with." He let out a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and deflated, already feeling worn out. The first stirrings of guilt in his gut didn't help.

 

            "Thank you, Will." She smiled with relief. 

 

            His insides twinged uncomfortably at the unintentional mirror of Hannibal's words from the night before. Will led them out of the house, knowing that he couldn't turn back. He had already made his choice.


	5. In For the Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where the violence comes in

~~~

 

            The long walk back to the village was made in silence for the most part. Aside from Alana's few early attempts at conversation, neither felt like breaking it. 

 

            Will occupied himself with taking in the scenery instead. The snow covering the ground was several inches deep. He was grateful for the boots keeping it away from the bottoms of his pants, knowing that they would've been soaked otherwise. The sky was a dreary shade of uniform gray, fast moving clouds suggesting that there might be more snow on the way. Hopefully he'd be home by then. Around him, the forest was picturesque, a perfect image of what winter should be. The trees stretched up endlessly, strangely naked without their leaves. Every so often they would pass an evergreen, the pine needles burdened with a thick layer of white that made its boughs droop down. The occasional rabbit sprung into a run if they came close enough to it. Their fur blended into the background, leaving them indistinguishable until then. It was beautiful. The unhurried calm was exactly what he needed.

 

            But soon enough the woods began to thin. The forest fell away the closer they came to the village, and off in the distance he could hear a rushing sound that grew with every step they took. They broke through the last line of trees.

 

            In front of him was a familiar sight. A wide, fast paced river cut through the land, tumulus currents crashing against each other in a roar. If one fell in, which had happened many times throughout the village's long history, they were immediately swept away, mostly never to be seen again. Stretching across this vast torrent of water was a thin rope bridge, tenuously clinging to the ground on both sides. It was the only way to cross. The village was built in a sharp bend of the river. Someday it would break off to form an oxbow lake, but until then it was impossible to get around. This rickety bridge was all that connected them to the forest and the world beyond.

 

            Worn planks of wood scrapped against their heels as they crossed it. He watched the village loom on the other side. Its cheery lights glowed deceptively in the distance, at least deceptively to him. His nervousness reemerged as they drew near. The last time he had been here he'd been violently forced out. He had no way of knowing what would happen now.

 

            Thankfully no one seemed to notice them. In fact, they didn't see a single person on their way in. He glanced around with wary eyes, suspicious of the lack noise. It was a ghost town. Every door was shut, the curtains drawn. Fires burnt in small metal cages on long poles in front of most houses, a few having been blown out by a wind that howled where it funneled through the gaps in the buildings. Rusty chains holding up signs over the doors of businesses squeaked in the breeze. There was no chatter, no dogs' barking, no kids, giggling as they playing in the street.

 

            Alana noted his confusion, her full lips twisting into a grimace. "It's been like this since the body was found this morning. They're pretty shaken up by this."

 

            He frowned. It was disturbing to think that something could have affected them like this, scared the same people who had come for him in an angry mob into hiding in their homes like mice.

 

            Alana led him through the heart of the village and to the outer edge. A bundled figure stood with his back to them, yet was easily recognizable all the same. They came to a stop behind him, Alana eyeing him and waiting for him to speak. When he didn't, she cleared her throat and did it herself. "Jack."

 

            He turned to glance over his shoulder, eyes lighting up as they took in them both. "Alana. _Will._ " He faced them fully then. "Long time no see."

 

            Will glanced up to focus on the bridge of his nose. Jack looked the same as always. A broad man with abundant strength, he radiated confidence. His dark skin was paler than he remembered, but that was probably due to the cold. His hands were tucked into the pockets of a heavy coat. A cap perched, slightly crooked, on top of his head. The only sign of the irritation lurking beneath his calm demeanor was the tapping of his foot in the snow. 

 

            Will knew it was because of just how long that 'long time' had been, but he was completely unapologetic in his brief greeting. "Jack. I understand you've got a body for me."

 

            "Yeah, I do." Jack gave Alana a look full of meaning and her lips drew into a thin line. "Would you mind giving us some time alone, Dr. Bloom?"

 

            "I don't think that's-"

 

            "Alana." His weary voice caught both of them by surprise. "It's fine."

 

            She hesitated, conflicted. "Will, I'm sorry." With the eyes of both men on her back, she vanished amongst the houses once again.

 

            "Welcome back." Jack's rough voice refocused him. He launched straight into the reason they were there. "This killer is different. He's sending us a message, one none of us know how to read."

 

            "Alana said you think he'll kill again."

 

            He scowled, stiffening his spine. "He will. I just need you to tell me why." Jack turned on his heel and led them deeper into the trees, presumably to the crime scene. Like a shadow, Will followed behind.

 

            When they finally came to a stop, Will took everything in with wide eyes. A woman was strung up between the branches of two trees, completely gutted. The empty hollow left behind was somehow more obscene than her nudity. Burns, small and large, were peppered over nearly every inch of skin. Stabbed through the center of her chest was one of the poles used to hold fires by the houses. It was still lit. Her face pointed to the sky rather than falling forward as one would expect. The tip of something bright poked out of her open mouth.

 

            Jack was following the path of his eyes and answered his unspoken question. "It's a yellow bird feather."

 

            Will nodded, mind already slipping into a familiar trance as he studied the boot prints in the bloodied snow beneath her. Jack recognized his empty expression for what it was and left him to do what he did in peace.

 

            His eyes slipped shut and the golden pendulum swung. One. Two. Three.

 

            _"It's late. The darkness conceals me perfectly, hiding me from my victim of choice. I observe her loitering around the edge of the village, laughing and talking with a man."_

_He watched her try to reach out and place a hand on his arm, but he pulled away wearing an expression of open disgust. The man left her on her own, ignoring her pleas for him to come back. She grew angry, rising to storm across the snow and into the woods. Straying further and further, she never noticed that something stalked her through the trees._

_"Conveniently, she comes to me. I follow her silently. When we've gone far enough, I make a sound so she will know I am here." Will knew that it could've been anything, but in his mind it was a low growl from the back of his throat. "She tries to find me, but she cannot see. Her fear encourages me."_

_The woman was terrified, and she broke into a run. He pursued her on swift feet, letting her take the lead. Ahead of them was a light. She began calling for help and running to it, not knowing that she was falling into his trap._

_They burst into the space where Will stood now. The pole had been stuck into the ground. As she stared at it with confusion he attacked her from behind. "I restrain her easily. She struggles in my grasp, but she's no match for me. Her clothing is cut away with a knife. There is nothing sexual about it; she doesn't appeal to me. I am careful not to cut her skin."_

_He pinned her to the ground. Taking a torch from where he'd left it near the base of the pole, he reached up to light it with the flames in the metal cage. Her eyes danced with fear and then pain as he pressed the end into her flesh. The air filled with the scent of burning meat. "I leave my wounds on every part of her, manipulating her when there are places I can't reach. I allow her to sob and scream. No one will hear her from here. These sounds are pleasing to me."_

_Finally satisfied with what he'd done, he plunged the torch into the snow, hearing it sizzle while he extinguished the flames. He stood, pulling her up as well. Pushing her to stand between the trunks of two trees, he looped ropes around her arms and pulled at the other ends. She rose above him, bare feet dangling over the ground. "I hoist her up. These ropes had already been put into place. While I could do more, I am bored with her and decide to end this."_

_He took the same knife from earlier and cut her open, ignoring her pleas as the man from earlier had done. With great care, he harvested her organs, ensuring that they never touched the forest floor. She bled out all the while. By the time he placed the feather in her mouth, she was dead. He plucked the pole from the earth, steadying her with a hand. The pointed end was thrust into her chest with pure strength. Will examined his work with a critical eye. "I have left a message for this village. Whether they heed it or not does not matter to me. I will kill again, though not in this way. This is my design."_

            Will came back to himself slowly, still examining the killer's work. Now he understood what Alana had meant by 'off'. This wasn't like any murder the village had ever seen.

 

            He wove through the trees, meeting Jack where they'd been earlier. "Jack, this killer is..." _Incredible. Unique. Fascinating._ "Strange."

 

            Jack snorted, his breath a cloud of white that rose above his head. "Tell me something I don't know. What did you see?"

 

            "Our killer targeted this woman for a reason. He had everything prepared, chased her until she was exactly where he wanted her to be. But these are all common objects. I think he only came up with the plan yesterday. Where did the pole come from?"

 

            "It was taken from her house." Jack's eyes narrowed. "The house where you used to live."

 

            Will blinked slowly. That was _not_ what he wanted to hear. He didn't comment, continuing to relay his reconstruction. "The organs were taken, maybe as a trophy. You were right. He's sending us a message. The feather was yellow, right? Yellow is a symbol for cowardice. The villagers have done something insulting to him. He's going to come back again."

 

            A tiny detail kept bothering him. The footprints had all seemed... Deliberate. Meticulously placed. "Where did the tracks in the snow lead?"

 

            Jack frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. "They go out of the woods and back into the village, but then we lose track of them. Too many footprints overlapping."

 

            "Could he have gone anywhere else?"

 

            "No, it doesn't look like it. Why?"

 

            Will grimaced, figuring out just what it was that had unsettled him. "Because they only go one way."

 

            Jack stared at him. "Are you saying he didn't come from the village."

 

            "I don't know what else it could be, Jack. This case is... wrong. There's something weird about this." Will bit his lip, not mentioning his true dilemma. The killer's mind had felt comfortable and oddly familiar. With how the last case had gone, he didn't want to find out why that was. "I've done what I can. Now I'm going home."

 

            Jack waved him away, storm clouds gathered on his brow. "I'll tell Alana you said goodbye."

 

            Will left the village the same way he'd come in, unharassed and of his own free will. His mind was bogged down, like he was swimming through a thick grey fog. Just before crossing the bridge, he turned back. The village sat behind him, unassuming and eerily silent. If he was right, there would be more deaths, and soon. But he'd already done everything he could do. So he clung to the hope that he would be proven wrong and walked away.


	6. Trust Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely unrelated to the plot of this chapter, but I made a terrible [Map of the Woods](https://31.media.tumblr.com/4ef49abaab748794e5bb2c024cbacf3b/tumblr_nf6b5dmHlk1ti14p3o1_1280.png) in MS paint for no reason. It's incredibly rough and shouldn't be used to imagine anything aside from the general position of things. The houses aren't anywhere _near_ accurate. I just made up the colors and shapes on the spot. They're also drastically upscaled to show where they'd be. I'm sorry?

~~~

 

            It was snowing again, just as he'd thought it would. The grey clouds draping over the forest like a worn blanket had continued to darken while he made the trek back home. It was a miracle that the flakes hadn't been falling by the time he got in.

 

            Will was slouched over in a chair by the fireplace, eyes glazed in the light of the flames. He couldn't stop thinking about it. The strange murder with an even stranger killer. Closing his eyes, he slipped into the reconstruction again, running through the killer's thoughts and motives the same way he had been for the last three hours. 

 

            "This village has wronged me in some way. I kill this woman to express this, but it isn't personal, at least not completely. Something has made me target her, made her stand out to me. Though my plans were rushed, I execute them perfectly. There is care here, each step carried out with thought and diligence. I am an experienced killer. I've done this before and I'll do it again. If I do not want them to find me, then I will not be found."

 

            Unsurprisingly he failed to learn anything new. It was straightforward enough, but there was still something scratching at the back of his mind that left him feeling he'd missed something. Why this woman? What had she done? The only thing that had him caught up on this was the house. His old house. The pole had been taken from it for a reason, the killer painstakingly including it in his message when killing her and leaving the feather should've been enough.

 

            Will sighed and rubbed at his temples, opening his eyes into tiny slits. If he didn't stop chasing this killer through his thoughts he was bound to get a headache. It was all just a one-sided loop of feedback anyway. Until he killed again there wasn't anything he could do.

 

            He stood, deciding that he'd wasted enough time. There wasn't much of it left. He'd have to walk to Hannibal's soon if he didn't want to be late. Hannibal abhorred rudeness, something he'd come dangerously close to learning the hard way. Will rubbed his throat nervously at the memory of forgetting his manners one time too many. 

 

            _Red eyes glowed like coals, but somehow left him chilled to the bone. Across from him, Hannibal set his knife and fork down on the edges of his plate. "William." He rose from his chair, coming around the table to stand behind him. "I believe we have discussed this before."_

_Will tensed and stopped chewing, sitting up straighter in his seat. There was a warning here, but he couldn't quite catch it. He'd been talking with Hannibal over dinner as they usually did and didn't think he'd done anything wrong. But Hannibal clearly did. Tilting his head back, he fixed him with a look of subdued confusion, waiting for him to elaborate._

_Hannibal made a sound of disapproval and he got the feeling he was disappointed. "I see. So I will have to teach you again." Will jolted as long fingers wrapped around his throat, not squeezing but resting heavily against his skin. He shivered, a chill running down his spine as though Hannibal had dripped ice water on it instead of... whatever he was doing. "I've told you three times already. Speaking with food in your mouth is incredibly rude, and I will not tolerate it. Perhaps I have been too lenient in this. While I am willing to overlook certain habits of yours, dining room etiquette won't be one of them. Do you understand?"_

_Will listened with wide eyes, hearing the dangerous undercurrent to his soft-spoken words. He nodded and waited for Hannibal to take his hands away. But he didn't. It seemed that he was waiting for something himself. Neither moved._

_"I want to hear you say it, Will."_

_He blinked. The tips of Hannibal's claws pressed down lightly. Now he knew what it was that he wanted. His jaw worked as he slowly resumed his chewing, the food in his mouth somehow losing most of its flavor. He finally swallowed around the fingers circling his neck, feeling them tighten ever so slightly. "I understand."_

_"Wonderful. We will not have this discussion again." His hands lingered before he lifted them and returned to his seat, completely calm. "Now, you were saying?"_

That had been an experience he wasn't eager to repeat. It'd happened only a couple weeks after they'd met, the subtle threat Hannibal had posed being genuine. Will had learned exactly where his boundaries were and how far he could safely push them. The occasional snarky comment? Fine. Being late to one of their dinners... Unacceptable.

 

            He'd just finished buttoning his coat when he heard a knock at the door. Eyeing it warily, he shuffled over to it. He didn't feel up to dealing with anymore surprises; lately, none of them had been good. The door was cautiously cracked just wide enough for him to peer out into the night.

 

            Hannibal stood on the other side, bundled up in his red cloak. The snow fell softly behind him, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they took in the only sliver of pale skin that he could see. He bowed ostentatiously and held out his arm to him. "Hello, Will. Would you like to walk with me?"

 

            He couldn't help but laugh as he stepped out and linked their arms together, the door closing behind him. "Hannibal, what are you doing here? I thought we were eating at your place."

 

            "We will be." It was only for a split second, but his gaze sharpened slightly, the mirth dropping from his face. Then he warmed up again, heading out onto the thin trail they had extended to Will's cabin. "I thought that I should escort you in case the snow hid too much of the path. It can be very difficult to navigate when relying on sight alone, so I came to lead our way."

 

            "Well, thank you. I appreciate it."

 

            The light from his house dwindled the further they moved away, soon leaving them completely. Overhead, a round moon hung low in the sky, just barely visible where it poked through the clouds and highlighted their wispy silhouettes. As they went, he could see why Hannibal had wanted to guide him. He'd lost all sense of direction the moment his house was out of sight, and it was too dark for him to figure out where to place his feet. At this point he would've been forced to turn back on his own, but he trusted Hannibal's keen nose and night vision to get them there safely.

 

            They walked silently, but unlike when he had gone with Alana there was no need for unnecessary words. The snow buffered the sounds that normally filled the woods and darkness pressed in on all sides. It was like they had wandered off into their own world, severed from everything completely. He tightened his grip on Hannibal's arm.

 

            Will didn't know how long it had been, but eventually they'd gotten close enough to see the light glowing in Hannibal's windows. As Hannibal opened the door and led them in, he noticed that at some point he'd started leaning on him. Once they entered the dining room he gently disentangled himself and pulled Will's chair out for him with a smile.

 

            "If you will wait here for a moment, I'll see if our meal is ready for us."

 

            Will slid into the seat and scooted it up to the table, muttering a quiet 'thank you' for the courteous gesture. In the beginning he had tried to stop him from doing things like that, saying it was unnecessary, but he'd quickly learned that it was useless. "Alright. Am I allowed to ask what we're having?"

 

            Hannibal's smile sharpened into a grin. "Sweetbread. Please excuse me." He slipped into the kitchen, leaving Will to his thoughts.

 

            His nail traced over the tines of his fork as he waited. Now that he was here, he felt safe, comfortable. But with nothing to occupy himself with his mind kept drifting back to the case, and with that came his guilt. He knew that going had been the right thing to do but that didn't make things any easier for him. When he'd opened up to Hannibal last night, it had been something important for both of them. There was trust. And now that he was going behind his back, it felt like... His fingertips paused on the serrated edges of his knife. Betrayal.

 

            Before he could get too wound up in his head, Hannibal swept back into the room, this time with a dish balanced on each hand. He set them down between both sets of silverware and left again, this time returning with two glasses and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. Describing their dinner almost absentmindedly, he uncorked the bottle and allowed it to breathe.

 

            "A pan-fried _ris de veau_ spritzed with lemon and served with a butternut squash risotto. Our wine is a pinot gris." He leaned over Will's shoulder, pouring the pale golden liquid for him before doing the same for himself. 

 

            Will held the stem of his glass between his fingers and swirled, watching the clear wine press against the sides. He lifted it to his nose and scented it. Across from him, Hannibal mirrored the action. Will knew that his nose was much less refined, but he could appreciate it all the same. Once he was satisfied, he took a small sip. "Thank you, Hannibal. This looks delicious."

 

            "It was my pleasure, Will. Hopefully it will match in taste and appearance."

           

            "If you've made it, then I'm sure it will." He took up his silverware while Hannibal accepted the praise with a slight tilt of his head. Cutting into one of the pieces of meat, he lifted a small portion, still steaming, up to his mouth and took a bite. The flavors rolled over his tongue, acidic lemon contrasting nicely with the sweetbread's creamy tenderness and the crispy outside. He smiled around his fork and let out a hum of approval.

 

            They ate for several minutes without interruption, both enjoying the meal. Will was a little over halfway through before Hannibal spoke again.

 

            He finished the bite in his mouth and placed the fork down, taking a sip of his wine. "So, Will. Where did you go today?"

 

            Will sputtered, managing to swallow his wine without choking by some miracle. "I..." He paused and swallowed down the instinctive lie as well. Clearly Hannibal already knew. "...To the village." Slumping in his seat, he leaned back and fiddled with the hems of his sleeves, eyes never leaving them. Softly, he asked him a question tinged with guilt. "What gave it away?"

 

            Hannibal heaved a sigh of disappointment that stung at Will's insides. "I could smell it on you. There was Alana's scent and that of a man, Jack Crawford I presume." He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, the weight of his gaze prickling Will's skin. "Will, I thought we had agreed on this. Last night you told me that you wouldn't go." Though he was good at hiding it, hurt ladened his tone.

 

            He looked up and met his eyes, taking him by surprise. "I know, and I'm sorry." Ordinarily he would've avoided reading his emotions, but now of all times he needed to see him and know that he was seen. "When Alana came by today, I was going to say no. But I couldn't, I can't. People are dying, and I can't just turn away from that. I'm the only one who can do what I do, and it saves lives-"

 

            "At the cost of your own?" Now he sounded angry, lips pressed into a tight line. "At the cost of your peace, your happiness? I don't care about what happens to the villagers. I care about what happens to you. I do not want to lose you, Will."

 

            Warmth blossomed beneath his skin, rising to his cheeks in a faint blush. He should've been upset about the lack of concern for his fellow man, but it was hard to care when being told that he outweighed all of them in Hannibal's eyes. Still, he had to keep going. "And you won't. None of them know that I'm back, and this killer is targeting them, not me. Even then I'll be careful, I promise. I just. Need to do this, Hannibal. Please." He bowed his head, eyes locked onto the tops of his boots.

 

            He didn't hear Hannibal stand, but soon his shoes were in sight. "Will." His head didn't move. Hannibal sighed, gently this time, and plucked his hand from the table. "...I will allow it."

 

            Will glanced up, mouth open to speak, but the words died in his throat as Hannibal pressed his knuckles to his lips and found his eyes again. They stared into him intensely, their firm resolve mirrored in the strength of the grip on his hand. "But only for this case. You do not need to risk yourself for them again. Do not let them drag you back in when you've finally gotten out."

 

            Mutely, he nodded. It was incredibly relieving to know that he had his support. It was even more relieving to know that he had someone who cared enough to stop him from getting tangled up in all of it again. "Thank you." He squeezed his hand, trying to express just how grateful he truly was.

 

            It must have worked at least a little bit, because Hannibal smiled and squeezed back before finally dropping his hand and returning to his seat. "I apologize for interrupting our dinner, but this was something we needed to discuss. I am not sure how much help I will be, but I would like to hear about the case if you don't mind."

 

            Will cut himself another piece of the sweetbread, fork poised near his mouth. "Are you sure? It doesn't seem like it would make for polite dinner conversation."

 

            Hannibal took up his knife and cut his own piece, watching Will pass the bite between his lips with a strange look of fondness. "Oh, I am sure it will be fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's gonna be a pause in this for a while probably. I'm planning to go back and write for another fic of mine, so I don't know when the next update will be. Sorry.

**Author's Note:**

> I've loosely pulled part of the plot from [The Grandmother's Tale](http://www.endicott-studio.com/articleslist/the-path-of-needles-and-pinsby-terri-windling.html), an earlier version of Red Riding Hood. [My Tumblr](http://visceralviscaria.tumblr.com/).


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